A Widow's New Testament
by Psychoflop
Summary: What is Agorism?


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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"emuBeginning/u/em/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""I know what you're probably thinking, constant reader. Who is Inga? And why is this story taking place in Jerusalem, Turkey and not Jerusalem, Israel?"/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"Inga took her pad of unlined paper, her feather quill and inkwell and moved to the other end of a bar which had an oil painting of her and her husband, created about 1 year prior at the world's fair./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""I was Aaron's wife, until he was murdered about 3 months ago. Burned at the stake for heresy as his writings are considered 'subversive' here. He saw it coming, so he transferred all of his worldly possessions over to me while he was still alive, which also raised an eyebrow or two in this society, as I'm a woman (future writings on this world will be my writings released in his name "posthumously"). To my knowledge, this is 1 of the very few worlds where I exist as Aaron was never big on marriage at all, and we mostly don't meet on other places as a result. A pity, I loved him and his mind very much. I also gave him children, which I sent away to different orphanages in Europe, all of whom agreed to change their names and keep them hidden, as they knew who my husband was. Secondly, this is one of the few worlds where the Turkish took revenge against the Catholic Church after the first crusade which culminated in what most Aaronworlds would call Israel being conquered by Turkey in the turn of the 12supth/sup century. Most traces that the Christian and Jewish religions ever existed here have been destroyed and I'm one of the only people in the area who knows about it."/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"Inga stared at the painting with a deep sense of longing, hearing a distant bell tower chime 8 times./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""The first wave of customers will be here shortly, this is the first time I've forced myself to work the night shift here, usually I just work days then allow a server to run it at night. The servers are in the back, prepping the food and drink while cleaning the cutlery and plates. The tavern is called the span style="font-family: Mangal;"span lang="hi-IN"span lang="hi-IN"النصل المدني/span/span/span"/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"Inga then burst out in laughter, then continued "Sorry, Arabic is the primary language here, and as my now ex-husband explained, most of his 'constant readers' prefer English. Plus as I understand it, there was a bit of a translation mishap in his earlier works 'Suspects' and 'Steamoglyphics'. So, for the duration of this tale, I will try to omit Arabic whenever possible. The English translation for the name of this tavern is called 'The civil blade'"/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"Multiple loud bangs then came across the door, which Inga deduced came from 7 people of various builds and strengths. A black haired female server came out but Inga pointed to the back before she could even speak, effectively saying "I'll get it" without actually saying anything. Inga then walked out from behind the bar, surveyed the long wooden picnic tables and the various weapons that decorated the otherwise barren wooden walls and lifted a large metal bar upwards, which served as the front door's lock. Sure enough, there were 7 people there. Inga immediately recognized them as regular patrons, and friends of her lost husband./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""Adam Debideen's hair is longer here than on any other Aaronworld. In part, it's to keep up his appearance as a loyal Muslim. Also, it's hard for anyone to find a barber around here, even when he's a prison guard. Jason Collins has checked up on me more than any of the others, as he was distantly related to my husband. He's one of the town's resident bare knuckle fighters and likely the richest customer of these magnificent 7, if not amongst all my clientele. He doesn't seem to have any fresh injuries, meaning he's either not fighting much or he's winning his fights quickly. Phoenix (she won't let me call her Christa, apparently not even Aaron had that privilege) has some fresh bandages on her left forearm. I'm guessing she has dabbled in the forbidden dyes again and given herself some new art on her body. A lot of people here consider that blasphemous, but women tend to get away with the minor offences in society here more than the men do. I don't judge her or anyone else as I have a body modification of my own, but no one tends to notice the piece of steel Aaron pierced into each of my nipples as his anniversary present to me (my gift to him was sharing myself with another man). Ginette is probably taking the biggest risk by being here as she works as a missionary over in the last christian district of this town, maybe even the country. I don't expect to be writing all that much about Jenn Etheridge as she didn't really know Aaron very well and only comes here for the alcohol, but she pays very well. Oh wow, Brian, the head of buckets is here. He must be having a good day, as he is very much the silent type, but he also causes no trouble, so I don't mind his silence. Actually, I like his gentle demeanour as...the town's bard, I guess. He's probably the best lute player in the world, and also the fastest. The last one, is probably the most rebellious and the one that I know the least about. She wears her hair under a cloak as she has dabbled in a different kind of forbidden dye. Oh who am I kidding? Her hair is pink. Her first name is Marketa, I know that much, but don't know her last name (I won't push the issue, I respect my customers privacy). She came into Aaron's life as the only legal mind with the courage to step forward and be Aaron's legal counsel. When it became obvious that he had no chance of being found not guilty, she helped him settle all of his affairs, which lead to me owning this place. I even tried to offer her free food and drink for the rest of her life, but she has steadfastly refused. I think she feels a measure of guilt for not saving Aaron's life, but I don't hold a grudge against her. If she hadn't come forward, I'd likely be a homeless prostitute on account of how inherently sexist this world is, and Aaron would have died sooner."/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"To the other 7 in this story who were not me, they only saw me standing still after I let them into the tavern, save for writing this down, of course. It was Jenn of all people, who spoke first./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""What's the matter? Introducing all of us as characters for a future writing?"/p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""Precisely. I'm doing anything I can to get my mind off of him."/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"Everyone nodded in sympathy for me. Brian (who I will refer to from now on as Buckethead, as it is the more common name for him) even put a comforting hand on my shoulder (which as I recall, wasn't easy for him). Phoenix then whispered "If only the civil blade is good enough cover". I was completely caught off guard by that statement. It only got worse when Adam and Jason repeated the statement. I shed a tear or two over the frustration of not understanding them (something my husband did often, he believed that I also had what he called 'Autism' like he did, but he also estimated that it would be 5 or 600 years before this becomes a known disability on this world). Ginette (having known Aaron the longest) figured out what was going on, before I did./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""I don't think Aaron made her aware of...what's down below" she said while point at the floor. I turned my attention to her, but was no less confused or frustrated./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""Are you aware of what a 'fight club' is?" asked Buckethead. That I nodded in confirmation at, "Yes. It's a series of underground groups that sanction brutal fighting for the purposes of rebelling against society. Wait, you mean to tell me that Aaron ran a fight club in The Civil Blade? That would be ironic considering his stance on diplomacy inside these walls"/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"A couple of the group nervously laughed (Phoenix and Jason), but the rest looked down at the floor, feeling embarrassed./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""We're sorry that your husband kept you in the dark about this" said Jenn softly./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""To be fair, he was hoping to be one of the few Aaron's to live to see 40. Although him not being picked to be one of the Aaron's to lead the war of Philadelphia should've been a clue that he wasn't long for this world. Marketa and Jenn weren't in because they probably came into Aaron's field of view on Aaronworld-prime after that version of Aaron 'left'. I wasn't in because not many of me exist. But yeah, this is still strange for me"/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"Jason then stepped forward and explained "He did run one, with wooden practice swords being the weapon of choice. I think he wanted to maximize brutality while also minimizing chance of death. However, as you are now the owner of the civil blade, we now have to either negotiate a new fight club with you or find a new fight club somewhere else in town. It's one of the few rules of fight club that all fight clubs of the world agree on."/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"The rest of them nodded, and I was actually impressed by Jason being so forthcoming as to my options. Aaron and I believed in Agorism, a societal and political view wherein all relationships are voluntary. This has a secondary effect which my husband referred to as "counter-economics". I'll see if I can remember it...ah, here we go: "the study or practice of all peaceful human action which is forbidden by the state"./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""How is this peaceful?" I asked/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""We get on in society better, by having this one outlet. We fight here, we can blend into society better because we are less angry. Aaron confided in me on the morning before he was executed that all of us, even you, are as subversive in this society as he was and without this...fight club, as he and Jason called it, he would've been killed for his writings years earlier." replied Marketa. Her voice has always been so exotic to most of the others, but she was born somewhat close to what Aaron would call my Hungary. I think he told me the name of her homeland not long before he died...Czech Republic, that's it. Everyone else was from different parts of those colonies across the ocean, although Ginette was a bit further south than the others, just as Buckethead was far west. After a minute's thought, I announced "OK, the fight club can stay. But only if a 'support the bar' clause is officially instated."/p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""That was actually rule 0 of fight club, so basically you're just agreeing to the deal we already had in place" announced Jenn (who I think looked a tad impatient as everone else giggled)./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""Then that's what we'll do" I declared (everyone looked pleased). Then things got a bit awkward when I whispered "How does one access this fight club? Aaron never showed me!"/p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""The first irony of my cousin's life: He owned a tavern but didn't like to drink." said Jason with a smile as he walked behind my bar, wrapped his hand around a bottle of Absinthe with a simple label "Zufanek" printed on it as if it were a lever, then pulled it like it was. A large spiral staircase then formed across my floor./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;""Hurry everyone, Aaron rigged the timer for 1 minute and never showed me how to adjust it." announced Jason as he ran down the stairs. The rest of us followed suit, with Marketa mumbling something about Aaron wasting a bottle of alcohol worth over 10000 Turkish lira (2400 in Aaron's Canadian dollars) as a door handle./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""You remembered where Aaron kept the matches, right Jason?" asked Adam as Jason began feeling around the floor./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""Yes, the box on the table on the north side of room with Inga's name engraved on it." he replied. I only had a moment to smile before I heard what I presumed was the box open. "The real trick is remembering where the torches were in the room. OK, here's one of them" he announced as suddenly the room was lit just well enough for everyone to see the other unlit torches. Once all of them were lit, 4 in total, I saw the fight club room for the first time: A Collins family crest on the North wall by the entrance, a Turkish/Israel hybrid flag on the south wall, rules in Arabic on the west wall, English on the east wall. I clear my throat and announce "As I'm the owner now, I'll recite the rules. Out of respect to my husband's first language, I'll announce the rules in English"/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"I rotated somewhere between 45 and 90 degrees to my right, so I can have full view of the English rules: "First rule of fight club is 'You do not talk about fight club'. Second rule of fight club is 'You DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB'. Third rule: 'Once pre-determined terms of fight have been reached, the fight is over.' Fourth rule: 'Only two people to a fight...huh...the fighting here can be intergendered, interesting.'"/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"The other 7 in the chamber began laughing. I suppose they also heard that at least half the fight clubs throughout this world limit the fights by gender. I'm so proud of my husband for not having that bias in his mind. I continued: "Fifth rule: 'One fight at a time'. Sixth rule: 'No shoes, other clothing optional'. Seventh rule: 'Fights will go for as long as they have to'. Eighth rule: Pre-determined conditions are acceptable if both parties consent. Ninth and final rule: 'If this is your first night at fight club, you have to fight.' I'm assuming that rule is not applicable to any of you."/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""It doesn't apply to you, either. As you're also the host and owner of the venue. I'll take the first fight" said Jenn E./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""Whom do you wish to challenge?" asked Jason Collins as Phoenix pushed a brick inside the south wall, which opened a cache of a few dozen wooden swords. It made sense to me, as I'm pretty sure Aaron needed some kind of catharsis for living, but didn't want death on his hands. Jenn however, doesn't seem to care about her life, she just challenged Buckethead. Everyone, myself included, thought she was crazy. He's a good 14 inches taller than her, his reach is several inches longer and he was of a slimmer build, suggesting he might even be faster. Jenn then held up 3 fingers in the air, making sure to be in Buckethead's field of view. Buckethead nodded. I was confused at first until Jason whispered "They've agreed on a fight wherein the first to 3 points wins." I nodded in acknowledgement to Jason then money began changing hands between the non-fighters (I'm presuming it was gambling. I didn't make a bet myself but didn't stop the others. Even the wagering was done under agoristic rules and no one was ridiculed if they did not consent to wagering). After the money stopped changing hands, I then nodded at both the combatants to begin the fight. Jenn immediately went for Buckethead's lower extremities. Not those ones, you dirty minded fools, I'm talking about his legs. I have to give her credit, her strategy is a sound one given how tall he is. She even got a point against him, hitting him in the knees. That really only seemed to make Buckethead mad, as he hit her 3 times in a row in rapid succession. They did however bow to each other and hug in respect, and I have to admit that this is the first time I've felt aroused since Aaron died. Buckethead is such an amazing man. I truly don't know if he has any feelings towards women at all though./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"emuThe Middle: An election, a selection and removal of protection/u/em/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"A few days had passed (If you're using a Gregorian calendar, we're on a Tuesday whereas Fight Club night was the previous Friday). Normally I wouldn't see many of my ex husband's friends here in the middle of the week, but today was an election day. When it was announced that the winner of the election for Mayor of Jerusalem was a man named Jawed Anwar (a Muslim extremist that was very much aligned with conservative points of view), I now realized why almost everyone I knew through my husband was here: He ran primarily on a campaign platform that established that he wished to purge Jerusalem of all Agorism, Immigration and Fight Clubs. If this politician follows through on even one of his platforms, life would change beyond repair for all of us. Actually, the immigration issue might send all of us out of the country. Who am I kidding? It would send all of us out of here. Marketa and I would be sent back to Eastern Europe, everyone else would be scattered across the other side of the world. I'm pretty sure we've reached a point where being sent back home would be to places more socially tolerant than what I believe this place will become in short order, but my tavern, Aaron's posthumous legacy and our way of life will be gone. My outrage was shared by my friends, but even the money they were giving me for their drinks was of no comfort to me./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""So what is he getting rid of first: A benign counterculture of business being conducted between consenting adults behind the governments back? The backbone of employment in the religious mecca of this world? Or the most cathartic means of relieving the day to day stress of living in society which will likely lead to a more violent society in a matter of years, if not months?" lamented Jason./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""How the fuck did this guy get elected?" asked Jenn./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""Same reason for every major change in political power throughout modern history. The last mayor was spending too much money which outraged the people to point where they were easily brainwashed into voting for a guy who claims will spend less (which to be fair to this guy, he probably will as he's already pushed a couple of major tax cuts and reductions in the salaries of the few city workers we have including his own) in exchange for trading away a few civil liberties. God, I'm starting to sound like Aaron now. It's as if he's writing me or something" replied Ginette./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""At least we can peacefully demonstrate against him" offered Marketa, ever the optimist./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""For now, until he's given an excuse to outlaw it. Does anyone know where Phoenix is?" countered Jason./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"Buckethead shrugged./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""She has 4 kids and no husband, I'm surprised she even comes out at all." replied Adam./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"Inga was not confident enough in her writing skills to do this part, so I, Phoenix will be taking over for the next little bit. Truth be told, I wish I didn't have to write this part of the story either. Earlier that day, my children and I were abducted by the Jerusalem Police. They don't even deserve the title of police as quite honestly, there are crime syndicates in this world with more honour than the group who took us. My only saving grace on this day was that I defended myself well enough to have prevented my own gang rape, as the last thing I need is a 5supth/sup child fathered in this manner (the other 4 were consentual...oh god, what if they had tried to have fun with one of my kids?). But that didn't stop the beatings, and torture entirely (They didn't touch my kids, thank god). I remember every hit against me, every time acid was thrown on my body art (which thanks to how well Aaron put it on me, didn't even come off, though my skin still bubbled). Even with almost a fifth of my body chemically burned and all of the bruises and welts on my face, I did not submit to what they wanted: Betraying what few friends I have in this town for the "benefit of Jerusalem" and serving as a spy that would bring down the Civil Blade and the fight club that went with it. I didn't even submit when my own life was threatened (I'm 37, most people on this world don't really live past 45), it was when my children were threatened to be forced to watch my being burned at the stake (my 2 eldest saw what happened to Aaron that day, he was like an uncle to them) and then they themselves being either thrown into the workhouses (adoption doesn't really exist here on this world) or being burned at the stake themselves for possible blasphemy or witchcraft that they finally broke me. I agreed to spy on my own friends and turn them in for engaging in subversive activities and promoting gang violence against the state. I had a rare moment of crying when I realized the extent of the betrayal I was now being forced to commit. It's hard enough for a woman who wasn't born here to find anyone who cares about her. Most men are "nice to me" because they assume that a single mother of 4 children is an easy fuck and "in need of a new suitor". Women avoid me because of my light skin colour or because they assume I'll steal their husbands because I'm a single mother of 4 "in need of a new suitor". Jerusalem will never understand that I've been so hurt by men that I've given up on them almost entirely (even women are starting to look good). Aaron was the last one I truly cared about, but Inga got him first. But I digress, it's either sell out the last 6 people in this town that will even talk to me, or condemn myself and my kids to die. My friends will likely never understand that I had no choice, I don't blame them either. When this is over, I'm relocating again (assuming I'm alive). I'll be little more than a bad memory to anyone who survives./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"emuEnd/u/em/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"emShe has no choice, I hope at least you understand/em./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"I shot up out of bed in an instant, thinking that my husband had somehow returned to me. It was only after I looked to the right side of my bed (which Aaron built himself based on visuals given to him by what we later found out to be alternate versions of himself) and saw it empty that I returned to the reality of my being a widow./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"I mostly spend my mornings alone now, as I enjoy solitude after a night of running a bar and seeing dozens of relative strangers. This was true even when Aaron was alive, as he would only come out to the bar under very specific circumstances. He was mostly content to keep the books or write in secret. I haven't even touched his upstairs office since he told me to hide all of his writings so that they wouldn't be seized when he was placed under arrest. I debated selling the distribution rights to Marketa, but she would have to get the stories to a more socially tolerant part of the world (If such a place even exists) and hope to God that she wouldn't be captured by anyone sympathetic to Turkey. Knowing my luck, she'd be burned at the stake first, then I would be a week after being forced to watch her burn./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"There was a general uneasiness when my friends came in, each of them individually came in at different times between 1 and 2 hours after I opened. I actually appreciated that, as it gave me time to settle the early evening rush of customers. Phoenix came in last, and I had never seen her so badly injured before, not even in Fight Club. Both of her eyes were black and slightly swollen. Her nose was broken, possibly in 2 different places and I no longer knew where her tattoos ended and where her bruises began. I poured her a pint of ale made somewhere in the Midwest North American Continent (her favourite) and turned down her offer to pay. "You look like you need it, and my books won't miss 1 glass." was all I said, making sure to give her my attention but not stare at her either./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""I wish this was 1 of the worlds where I smoked" she mumbled./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""What happened?" asked Ginette, sounding terrified./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""I fell down the stairs while taking Azrael to the doctor's office for his checkup" she answered, half-heartedly. Everyone patted her in sympathy, except Jenn, who shook her head. "No, bruises on your legs are consistent with thin, but blunt objects. Wooden and de-splintered would be my guess" she began as she pointed at various parts of Phoenix's body (It occurred to me that she was right, the width of the bruise was consistent with a policeman's stick). "Your fingernails have skin under them that are too dark to be yours, indicating that you were in a fight recently with more than one person. Thirdly, there are no bruises from what I can see on your back that you haven't covered in clothing. So either you were on your back or your attackers were honourable enough to face you. Given the recent change in in our local government, I suspect you were caught by law enforcement because our beloved fight club has gone public and you were beaten and tortured until you agreed to spy on all of us. Will you even attend all 7 of our public burnings at the stake, or will you be such a coward that you won't even watch your consequences for your actions?"/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"If I could give Phoenix credit for anything at that exact moment, it would be that she did not waste any effort denying the summation that Jenn had made. Nor did she gloat like so many villains in so many of my husband's unreleased works. She burst into tears immediately, only adding "And all 8 of us plus everyone we're close to will probably be killed in even worse ways if I just give them false information."/p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"She soon had a new, fresh bruise on her right cheek, followed by a fresh wad of phlegm on her left one. I wasn't in shock that Phoenix had that inflicted on her, but I was shocked as to who it was that did it./p  
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p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""Do you have any idea how hard it is to earn the personal trust of an attorney?" screamed Marketa, who was barely restraining tears of her own. Marketa (outside of legal proceedings) was one of the most gentle human beings I had ever known. And it was by no means a fleeting moment as it took all 6 of us (everyone in this tale belonging to the Aaronverse who was not Marketa or Phoenix) to pry Marketa off of Phoenix. We all even tried not to even look at Phoenix. Even if she chickened out and sacrificed herself to save us, she was persona non-grata. We wouldn't mourn her as she herself was burning at the stake, nor would we forgive her in our own deaths./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""I can still lift my arms well enough to hold a weapon. You and me. Right now" said Phoenix./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""To the death." replied Marketa. She wasn't even blinking in her stare of her potential opponent./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""To the death" answered our Phoenix, more like our Judas. By then (thankfully) the other guests had cleared out, so it was easy for me to yank on the bottle of absinthe to set up the staircase. I lit the room almost immediately as Jason said (almost as an afterthought) "I don't think these 2 need a review of the rules of fight club"/p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""Yeah, I had never even heard of a challenge to the death before. This is supposed to be therapy, not an excuse to commit murder" said Adam, terrified that he was about to witness a crime regardless of outcome./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""Come on Markie, we didn't have to do it this way. We could all have kicked her out of the group, then planned a quick exit out of town." said Ginette, desperate to restore some sort of peace. Buckethead merely shook his head at her. I would later find out that Buckethead was not encouraging violence, but accepting that peace was probably impossible by now. Marketa didn't even waste any time for niceties, immediately going for Phoenix's head. Phoenix blocked with relative ease, for the first minute or so, then seemed to not anticipate any of Marketa's attacks./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"emPhoenix is throwing the fight. She assumes that if Marketa kills her, the rest of you will be safe from persecution. She doesn't suspect that the new authority in town will arrest and burn you all anyway without evidence or probable cause. Oh the hell with this./em/p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"So it was Aaron talking to me in my dreams, it would explain what would happen next. We all fell to the floor with massive migraines, blinded from what was going on around us. The only things we saw were images of children fighting like soldiers, then stopping to be friends in a display of genuine humanity, then they escaped a collapsing. All of this while a slightly younger Marketa from a probable alternate universe singing in between spoken word recordings encouraging a society of peace. Such means of recording music are nowhere near possible (one thing that I miss about that war of Philadelphia: Electricity) but somewhere across the multiverse, a different Marketa (via my departed husband) told us all to stop. To his credit, they stopped. When I came to, Marketa and Phoenix were in tears, hugging each other, exchanging apologies. Buckethead then sighed, tore off a section of his mask we would call his mouthpiece, then kissed me. It was the only way he could show me he loved me but still hide himself. That was enough for me./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"But apparently, that was not enough for Adam Debideen. "I say we dissolve the fight club. Turn the civil blade as a tavern of safety, not one of conflict. Buckethead, you and Phoenix can write music while Phoenix and Marketa sing it."/p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"Everyone nodded, myself included./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"emuEpilogue/u/em/p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"All of that was 6 months ago. We're all still here. The authority of this town were paid off by, well, the civil blade's profits. I'm proud of bribing them too. The masked one, the inked one and the pink haired one did, in fact form a trio: Masked voodoo tempora is their name, and they're currently on tour in what most of you would call Saudi Arabia. I miss having the big guy in my home, but we're both living our dreams now, Aaron would be so happy for us. Business here has increased to such an extent that I've hired Jason as my new cook, Adam as my bouncer at the front door. Ginette and Jenn are now servers (Jenn opens, Ginette closes). Not really much else to say, so, farewell, constant reader, old chum./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="CENTER"*/p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="CENTER" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"Marketa fell to the floor of her room in the Inn her, Buckethead and Phoenix were sharing in what most people in the multiverse would call the outskirts of Riyadh. This was similar to her fall in the fight club but, "No, Aaronverse. Aaron's not putting pictures in my head again"/p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"She then grabbed the metal frame at the end of a nearby bed, pulling herself up to stand. She then turned her attention to you: "And I'm not turning into one those things that can jump across the multiverse. Something else entirely, actually. My head always hurts so much, and I now know why."/p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT"Her skull began to pulsate, then crack and puncture. A mass came out of her head that could only be described as...a horn./p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT" /p  
p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="LEFT""Your unicorn has arrived"/p  
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